It is important to set the stage regarding Mother’s Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) with narcissistic components. Caring for Mother the last five years of her life, I have previously covered: living in borderland, hoarding, addictive families, all about siblings, crazy making, personal tips towards recovery. Here is a sample.

Causing me much confusion and distress, here are some samples of Mother’s treatment toward family members.

Older Sister – The first grandchild, beating out our older aunt, made Mother act proud and gleeful. It was years before I could understand Mother’s strange behavior. The pressure exerted on my sister intensified, magnifying all that comes with being the oldest. Unfortunately, I have never been able to live up to her standards.

Mother decided this sister would be the family musician, inheriting Grandfather’s violin, pushing her to become a music major. This despite others having more innate talent. My piano teacher told Mother I had the talent to become a concert pianist, but was ignored.

This sister laid low, fading to the background, going away to college, escaping. She told me, “I knew things were crazy, I didn’t know why, I just knew I had to get out.” Mother pretty much left her alone, all attention on me, who did not bend to her every whim, no matter how deviant Mother treated me.

Middle Daughter That would be me. It might help to know that I was my Father’s favorite, sharing many similar characteristics and interests. Having previously shared Mother’s actions towards me, I’ll just share some comments, comments no daughter should hear.

“Your dad loves you better than me.” “You will never stay married.” “You will get divorced just like your aunt.” “Finally, somebody who can control you” (said upon my marriage which proved to be continuing abuse).

My Brother  I am closest to my brother, as we are the middle children and have much in common. We find acceptance in each other in that our lives have not gone according to the perfect family script.

Although father had four brothers, my brother was the last male to carry our hallowed surname. There was much pressure placed on him to be “good.” Unfortunately, he did not fit the family British, academic mode. With significant dyslexia and need to move, his giftedness was not only unrecognized, but Mother disparaged him until the end of her life.

At the age of twelve, he brought home a broken motorcycle and fixed it, without a manual. His business ventures continued and he started two very successful businesses. This was never recognized by Mother, even though I pointed out all his achievements.

She continued to call him, “That silly boy,” and “He’s just a used car salesman.” Mother’s continual put-downs hurt me to the core, even though I recognized my brother’s characteristics reminded her of her  father, who was abusive.

Younger Sister After a big gap in time, we had a new little sister, who, according to Mother, could do no wrong. After the excessive punishment and abuse in various forms the older three received, this daughter received no punishment, because, as Mother explained, “I never had to punish her, she punished herself.”

In Mother’s final days, she began sharing some hidden secrets to me. I found out Mother did not want to be pregnant and became very depressed and did not want to live. She had had several miscarriage, which we never knew about.

Mother’s faith in God helped her, and she found a magazine picture of a beautiful baby girl dressed in pink. Putting this picture on her dresser mirror, after worshiping every day, she delivered a daughter and named this new baby after herself. And, she shared this picture and story with this sister. I will leave you to delve into the psychological implications.

Mother was seriously depressed rarely leaving her bedroom, and I, barely a decade older, became a surrogate mother, even doing much of the family cooking. This daughter, with no boundaries, continued through life. We older siblings cut her a lot of slack. In reality, we were so much older, living our own lives, she didn’t affect us that much. Until I was caring for Mother at the end of her life.

Father  Our parents dynamic is a subject for another book, he being twelve years older, they at opposite ends of the logical / creative scale. Having a weak heart, Mother thrilled during the last part of his life, downgrading him verbally, embarrassing him, so much that I would just leave and cry. I couldn’t stand to watch.

Growing up, Mother verbally praised Father to others, being proud that she had married the smartest, kindest man; a better match than any of her siblings, in her much stated opinion. Behind the scenes, we heard constant snide jabs at him. In British fashion, there were no verbal outburst, just underlying tensions.

As adults, we learned that Mother blamed Father for the way she abused us saying, “Your Father was a genius and I was going to have such genius children, I didn’t know how to discipline you, the only thing I knew was to spank you hard.” Just for the record, we are not geniuses in the true sense of the word, nor was my father.

I thought it despicable the way Mother treated Father. She was happy when he passed, her actions became more erratic, nothing to stop or tamper her self-indulgences and hurtful verbalizations.

[For those students in the family therapy world, this would make an excellent genogram exercise.]